


I'm Your Servant My Immortal

by Krasimer



Series: The Horror Of Our Love [3]
Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Amy doesn't end up without pants, Amy still goes vampire, But Jerry's creepy is aimed entirely at Peter, Childhood Trauma, F/M, How about we ignore the underaged girl being sexually assaulted, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jerry is a sexual predator, Jerry is creepy, M/M, Peter needs therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, You made a rapist-type I'm just writing about him, by the adult man and rewrite it so it didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: He has dreams, sometimes.He dreams of offering himself to the monster that killed his parents, dreams of stripping himself bare and letting himself be taken in ways he does not let his waking mind think about wanting. Peter had been a child when the monster had invaded his home, the very space he was supposed to be safe, but that does not stop his subconscious.The dreams come whether he wants them to or not.Trauma is deep-rooted, a therapist tells him when he bothers to go see one.





	I'm Your Servant My Immortal

He has dreams, sometimes.

He dreams of offering himself to the monster that killed his parents, dreams of stripping himself bare and letting himself be taken in ways he does not let his waking mind think about wanting. Peter had been a child when the monster had invaded his home, the very space he was supposed to be safe, but that does not stop his subconscious.

The dreams come whether he wants them to or not.

Trauma is deep-rooted, a therapist tells him when he bothers to go see one. Sometimes recovering from trauma looks a lot like re-visiting the damage, his therapist says.

She also tells Peter that, sometimes, people dream of being the one thing that could have calmed the monster. She doesn’t talk to him about vampires—he has learned about telling people what the monster really was—but she does talk to him about it being a common adaptive daydream. Sex with the man who murdered his parents, she tells him, is a way of his brain coping with several things at once. The dreams aren’t a bad sign, she tells him.

He doesn’t go back, after that.

He doesn’t need to hear that it’s normal to want to be able to be the one to calm the attacker, to have a power over them that was never there in real life.

To his sleeping mind, the dreams come whether he wants them to or not.

The memory of the screams, the gun going off, the sight of his parents in pieces in their kitchen, all of it haunts him. He doesn’t need to pay some therapist several hundred dollars a session to be told that sometimes his brain concocts scenarios he would never have wanted in real life.

When he lets himself actually sleep through them instead of managing to force himself awake, he regrets it.

Those are the nights, when he finally wakes up, that an entire bottle of alcohol will disappear in minutes instead of hours.

Peter has never wanted anything less than he wants that.

But he still has the dreams.

Sometimes the vampire takes him against a wall, mouthing hungrily at his neck but stopping just short of biting him, Peter’s hand sliding over his mouth. Sometimes they’re in a bed, plush and piled with pillows and blankets, Peter’s nails scoring deep lines down his back, his own teeth biting into the vampire’s neck. Blunt and undamaging, bruising rather than cutting.

He spends days on end awake so he doesn’t have to experience the dreams.

Unlike what happened in real life, he is an adult in the dreams, as old as he was now. The vampire’s eyes are filled with hunger, with longing, for something other than blood. Peter dreams of giving himself to the monster and hearing his parents laughing and talking in the other room. Like his body is the price he pays to keep them alive.

When he wakes from those dreams, he feels hollow.

 

When he met Charley, when the boy babbled about a vampire, Peter had done his best to ignore it.

He hadn’t wanted to admit that his life was the way it was. That his parents had been slaughtered by a monster like that – not human, something worse. Even the worst serial killer had been limited by their body. The vampire that had _ripped apart_ his parents hadn’t been limited by a need for air or for a human speed or strength.

No, of course not, that would have made it too kind.

Too easy to fight back.

Peter had Charley removed from the flat and pulled out a bottle of absinthe, immediately pouring it into a cup and curling up against the door. With his back to it, he could pretend that the world outside it didn’t exist.

Could pretend that he hadn’t been reminded of some of the worst times of his life.

Whatever Charley was going through, the kid could deal with it on his own. Kids were resilient like that. Peter stared into his glass as he forced himself to think that phrase over and over again, chugging the alcohol when he couldn’t quash his guilt. The boy was dealing with a monster unlike any other, if he had the thing hunting him and his friends pegged correctly.

But there wasn’t anything Peter could do to help him. He’d faced one when he was a boy, younger even than Charley, and his parents had been murdered.

He had been more than useless back then – why would he be anything helpful as an adult?

Charley would just have to figure it out himself.

Peter glanced up at the stack of photos Charley had handed to him, then forced his eyes away. He studied the patterns in the walls, traced a line across the floor with his eyes, _closed his eyes_. If he let himself panic, now, he would be more than useless. He would be an empty shell, nothing left but the fear.

Nothing but his nightmares.

With a stifled sob, Peter curled his arms around his head. He was hyperventilating, he knew he was, but he couldn’t make himself stop. Once he started with that, he started sobbing as well.

The cold wash of fear made everything worse and tears started running down his face.

He was alone, and that was perhaps even worse than being near people.

 

“You have your mother’s eyes,” the voice was amused.

Peter hefted the shotgun up, firing almost blind in the darkness of the hallway. He knew that voice, recognized it from all those years ago. He managed to get several shots off before the gun was yanked out of his hands.

If he hadn’t let go of it, he would have had broken fingers.

“And your father’s aim,” Peter felt the hand on his chest in the second before he was _launched_ across the room, tumbling end-over-end and landing roughly on the floor. Dirt beneath his hands, dirt surrounding him. Charley had to have been right, from what Peter saw – his classmates, the missing ones, had been brought down here and been buried. A vampire only buried someone when they had been turned.

The vampire, Jerry this time, changing names as easy as breathing, stared at him from the edge of the pit, still on the wooden platform.

“Look at _you,_ ” his eyes flashed, a smirk on his lips, his sharp teeth jutting out just at the edge of his top lip. His tongue pressed forward, like he was imagining the taste of something and savoring it, dragging slowly along the roof of his mouth. “I remember you.”

Jerry leaned forward on his hands. “Your scent never changed,” he said softly.

Peter’s breath hitched, his heart hammering in his chest. Something about the way he said it, the way he leaned in and watched Peter’s face, made Peter _nervous._ There was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, some big piece he needed to see the entire picture. “Why do you remember my scent,” he couldn’t make himself make it into a question, couldn’t bear to think of the reasons that it might be.

The words had come out almost on their own.

With a slow, deep breath, Jerry crept closer, keeping himself between Peter and the door. Not like Peter was stupid enough to try and escape, but he seemed to like the posing of the scene anyway.

“Did you know,” Jerry’s words were amused, “That I was just going to pass through England and keep moving?”

_Fuck._

“I was following my plan,” Jerry kept speaking, either unaware of the panic Peter had suddenly dropped into or not caring at all. “And then I smelled something interesting. Potential, potent and fresh, something wild and untamed. I could tell it was going to be something beautiful,” he seemed to vanish for a second between blinks. When Peter’s eyes focused again, Jerry’s hand was on his chest, pushing him back and down, his fingers gripping Peter’s chin and forcing eye contact. “I kept an eye on you for a while,” he whispered. “You managed to hide from me, sometimes, but I still found you eventually.”

Peter’s entire body shuddered as he tried not to show fear at the idea of being stalked by the creature that had _slaughtered his family._

“Do you think,” Jerry leaned in, his lips brushing across Peter’s cheek. “That I chose this town at random?”

_This was his fault._

Peter knew it even before Jerry continued talking, his eyes dark and his fangs flashing in the darkness of the basement. “You were so close,” Jerry chuckled. “Just a few miles away – I could see you at any time I wanted to. I went to a couple of your shows. Your plots are ridiculous, but your tricks are brilliant.”

Getting praise from a monster was about as comforting as a tiger licking you before it opened it’s jaws.

“If you would join me,” Jerry’s teeth traced over Peter’s neck, sharp points that just _hovered_ over the skin. If he wanted to, he could easily drain Peter dry, snap his neck, kill him and hide the body. “Then I could take you, just you, far away from here. Take you _home._ ”

England.

Peter almost remembered what home had been, once.

“We could have our little family,” Jerry’s voice was a sibilant hiss, the sound of it curling around Peter’s head and making him feel dizzy. “You and me and ours.”

In a show of strength he didn’t know he had, a flash of quickness no one could have predicted, Peter managed to get his leg up and between them, throwing Jerry back through sheer surprise alone. “I would rather die,” he snarled out. “Honestly and truly, _I would rather die._ ” He scrambled back as Jerry sat up and cracked his neck viciously to one side, the bones popping into place as his fangs and claws made a full appearance.

“You would rather die?” Jerry’s nose wrinkled as he snarled. If he had been human, if he had been anything other than the monster in front of Peter that had killed his parents, Peter would have admitted to it being cute.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, forcing himself to hold firm. Jerry had killed his parents, slaughtered his girlfriend. This asshole had followed him across the world, stalking him for decades.

In the distance, Peter heard someone scream and he threw out a silent prayer that Charley was alright.

In the moment he was distracted, Jerry bit his own thumb and slipped across the room again. The bloodied digit was in Peter’s mouth before he could even blink, his back pressed against the floor in an eerie echo of his dreams. Jerry’s weight was a solid shape above him, the vampire leaning down to press painful kisses against Peter’s jaw. “So be it.” He hissed. “If you survive, we’ll see how things go.”

He sunk his teeth into Peter’s neck for a second, leaving him feeling like a blood-filled juice pouch.

Jerry’s claw was resting against the back of his tongue, almost sliding towards his throat, and Peter felt it move further in when he tried to squirm away. “If you survive,” Jerry said again, dislodging his fangs from Peter’s neck. “I am _bringing you home_ and you cannot say anything against it.”

He stood up, casually walking back to the wooden border surrounding the room.

Once there, he leaned down and picked up a small stone, whipping it at Peter’s forehead. The impact stung, making Peter wince back. “A _pebble?_ ”

Smirking, Jerry gestured towards the walls.

Peter blanched.

He had forgotten the graves of the missing teenagers. If Jerry had turned all the missing, then he had a small army on his side. Feeling the drip of fresh blood down his forehead, Peter looked from his fingers back to the walls.

_Shit._

 

Charley was a bloody _idiot._

Peter laughed as he flopped backward onto the ground, his arms splayed wide as his entire body relaxed. He was sore, his entire body aching from Jerry’s blood being destroyed by the death of the originator of the bloodline. Charley Brewster had _set himself on fire_ to make certain that Jerry died. The absolutely mad little bastard had actually used Peter’s idea.

He laughed, one part exhilaration, one part insanity.

_Jerry was dead._

They all sat there for a few minutes, Amy dragging her knees to her chest. Her jeans were ripped and tattered, obviously having been torn up as she was dragged through the floor. The straps of her white dress slipped down her shoulders, suffering the same damage as the rest of her outfit. She mostly just looked properly angry, ready to beat someone’s face in.

Too bad there was no one left for her to hit. Peter would have liked to watch her take someone down. He bet himself that it would probably have been amusing.

“Alright,” Charley spoke up after a while, pushing himself back into a sitting position. Peter propped himself up on his elbows. “So that happened.” He laughed, still offhandedly wiping Peter’s relieved kiss off his face. He was smiling as he did, looking at Amy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded, pursing her lips. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Charley nodded, then slowly slid their hands together, fingers tangling. “I think I’m going to be.”

With a groan, Peter sat up all the way. “Okay, so,” he swallowed his nerves as he looked towards where Jerry had last been sitting. The small army was reduced back to regular teenagers. “So.” He looked at Charley and Amy. “I have a flat in the Strip,” he nodded at them. “And you no longer have a house. And I have, suddenly, a need to _not_ be living here any longer,” he tilted his head to the side when Charley laughed. “Sound good?”

“Sound good—Peter, that sounds _awesome_ ,” Charley laughed.

“Just give me a bit to find a hotel,” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, wincing from the pain there. He’d been a bit torn up in the fight, though the damage was healed from his brief few minutes as a vampire. “Your mum, too. I’ll tell the security team to expect the two of you.” He thought of something else. “Might buy you stuff, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Charley,” Peter dropped his voice low. “You just helped me out of a rut I have been in for the last three decades. You destroyed the monster that has been in my nightmares for that same amount of time. Charley,” he dropped a hand on Charley’s shoulder. “I don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Something like understanding flashed across Charley’s face and he reached up, curling his hand around Peter’s. “Keep in touch, okay? You’re going to give us the apartment and everything, you need to keep in touch.”

He could see the offer for what it was.

A family, of sorts, a base to touch down on and have guaranteed human contact.

“I’ll do that,” Peter smiled. “Just have to do some stuff, first. Some places to go before I can come back. We’ll exchange mobile numbers after we get out of here and cleaned off.”

He stood up, offering a hand to each of them.

Jerry had mentioned taking him back to England. He had been away from his family home for far too long. His parents’ graves deserved a visit.

He finally felt like he could go home.

**Author's Note:**

> I've returned! I don't think anyone reads this series, really, but I'm just going to keep posting it. I hope someone likes it.


End file.
